


Trust And Other Negotiations

by Purpleyin



Series: Flash fanworks [47]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Antagonism, F/M, One Shot Collection, Redeemed Savitar, Resolved Sexual Tension, SaviSnow, Self-Esteem Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: SaviSnow (Savitar/Caitlin) oneshots of the Mature/Explicit rating.Chapter 1 -He continues, watching her closely. “Are we friends, or would you rather be...something else?”When she walked into the room, there were many scenarios she foresaw. Him essentially propositioning her wasn't one of them.





	Trust And Other Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the same kind of deal as my fic [Why Should I Trust You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475444/chapters/33438246), a place for Savisnow one-shots but this time purely for the smutty ones. By definition these will all be canon divergent AUs. It's open ended for any oneshots that occur for them. If you have suggestions/prompts for SaviSnow do let me know, I might be inspired. :)
> 
> Many thanks to both [shyesplease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyesplease/pseuds/shyesplease) and [unwittingcatalyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwittingcatalyst/pseuds/unwittingcatalyst) for betareading this.

“You need to get laid.”

Caitlin cringes in the background, wishing she wasn't here for yet another clash of these two and their less than complementary personalities. Coming from Cisco, that line is only half-joking - also half a jibe at how annoyingly tense he finds Savitar to deal with at times. Like right now. 

She glances up to witness Savitar glare right back at Cisco.

“Don't know if you've noticed, but this,” he says, pointing to his face which the anger is showing through clearly on, “isn't so conducive to that.”

Caitlin isn't sure she'd agree; he's still handsome to her eyes, not that she's about to wade in there and admit it. Cisco has a pause for thought at Savitar’s more deprecating than expected reply but still blusters through the touchy subject anyway in the end, not entirely letting go of his enmity just because he's struck a nerve.

“So what? You have the transmogrifier. You could look like anyone, _except_ Barry. The world is your oyster.”

Savitar glares at Cisco more intensely but surprisingly doesn't hold it for long, opting to skulk off. Usually these verbal sparring matches last longer. She has a feeling Cisco hit on a particularly sore spot with his choice words, and even if he had intended his point about the transmogrifier to be somewhat consoling, he’s most likely failed. It isn’t like he has a good handle on how to relate to Savitar – he's jarringly not like Barry the vast majority of the time and Cisco hasn't adapted well to any of the ways he especially isn't. She sends him an admonishing look as she leaves to try to find Savitar. Cisco at least looks a little apologetic, though more for upsetting the peace and drawing her ire than for upsetting Savitar himself she suspects.

She doesn't succeed in locating Savitar as she intends, not until much later. Not until she comes back from getting an afternoon Jitters order in for the team - readying herself for a late night on one of her projects with a double espresso shot in her latte. She spies him tinkering with one of his own engineering projects in what has become more or less his lab. She has a strong suspicion that a large part of why he and Cisco clash these days is because Savitar's expertise overlaps considerably more with Cisco's than Barry's does. If Savitar could play nice perhaps that wouldn't matter. 

Knocking on the doorframe, he merely looks up to see her there but doesn't acknowledge her presence otherwise. She enters anyway, used to the subtleties of his style of interaction.

“How are you?” she asks gently as she approaches, glad she's gotten good at remembering his order so that she has his coffee in the tray as a decent excuse to come in here. He'll see through the ruse no doubt, but he might be more forgiving of it with that sugary caffeinated bribery.

“Fine,” he replies brusquely. She's quick to settle his coffee on the table to the side, like some strange kind of tribute, a reason for him to hopefully tolerate her not dropping the issue like he probably wants her to. 

“It bothered you, didn't it? What Cisco said.”

She expects him to dismiss it as nothing, to belittle Cisco's opinion. He doesn't. He's still staring at the machinery in front of him, some kind of power-assisted exoskeleton, but he's stopped turning the screwdriver he was a moment ago. Caitlin steps closer, coming around the workbench to stand on the same side as him, though still at a distance. Savitar needs his personal space, she's learned that well.

“Because you want what everyone wants. To be wanted for who you are.”

He laughs but it doesn't sound pleasant to her ears, coming out brittle. If she could see his face she suspects he'd be rolling his eyes. She stays her position, standing to one side, behind him. He drops the tool he was holding with a clatter on the metal of the workbench and picks up a wrench, switching to tightening a bolt she wonders if even needs any attention.

“I'm not interested in casual liaisons right now.”

The reply feels more directed towards what Cisco had implied he should do, avoiding completely her own supposition about why that had bothered him. It's doubtful that he's going to comment on that directly - she's lucky to have gotten this far in a conversation about his emotional wellbeing - but maybe she can get him to inadvertently open up. She probably shouldn't poke the beast any further, but she feels like she has to try to get him to deal with at least some of this.

Everyone can see he's a loner, having made only moderate concessions to interacting with any of them. Who else is there he can share what he's going through with? He had Frost as an ally, for a short time, and she'd feel more guilty to have taken that away from him if it weren't for the fact they'd saved him, offered help. The team can be there for him too, if only he'd let them.

“But it has been a while, hasn't it?” she asks, a more diplomatic version of what Cisco was getting at but surely something to provoke a reaction that could just maybe turn into more of a conversation.

She doesn't expect him to turn the question around like a shark; pivoting, his eyes pinpointed on her as he asks with some nerve, “And how long has it been for you,  _Cait_ ?” 

She stutters a non-response, slightly indignant but knows he's testing her somehow. Unlike Barry, he never calls her Cait, so she knows that is a deliberate attempt to test their boundaries. To say, 'You want us to be best buds? You want to open up? Here, how do you like it now?'

She could reply honestly, there's the possibility that would earn her an honest response in return, but she discards the idea. Probably now he wouldn't say, just to spite her having pushed too far, which doesn't make her want to give him anything when he's so stubborn and infuriating in the face of her proffered support.

“That's none of your business,” she replies, a little defensively. She's trying to stick to answering in a matter-of-fact tone, firm and decisive in response to his scrutiny on her, but she's still rankled by his turn-around strategy, “The only people who have any business knowing that is me and anyone I might plan on being with.” 

He takes a moment to assess that and deliberately steps forward, into her personal space, inadvertently breaching his usual bubble in the process. She isn't sure she's ever been this close to him except during the few medical examinations he's allowed her to do on him.

“I take it I'm excluded from that category then?” 

That almost statement, and yet clearly part question, truly surprises her. She's stunned for a second, a touch breathless until she recovers enough brain cells to speak again.

“What? I mean, of course. We're friends, kind of. Friends don't do that.”

Savitar leans in closer, eyes dark in the shadows of the lab as he practically blocks the light source and his voice low, taking on a sultry quality she's never heard from him before.

“Or is it they _shouldn't_ do that?” 

She doesn't know quite what he's playing at. It feels like a challenge to see how far he can push her buttons and she should have left already really, let go of the entire conversation like it deserves. 

He continues, watching her closely. “Are we friends, or would you rather be...something else?” 

When she walked into the room, there were many scenarios she foresaw. Him essentially propositioning her wasn't one of them. She has no idea how the hell it got to this, what his logic is that this made sense to do. Is he trying to scare her off? Or is he genuine, does he mean it? 

She doesn't know how to field the question. The obvious answer should be the one she started with – it's not any of his concern, not anything he should get involved in - but she can't manage to get any words out. Anything else would be a misguided idea on her side, but her body doesn't seem to know that.

The way he's looking at her...it leaves her mouth dry. He's so close, he might have drifted closer as they spoke, she isn't sure – there's a tension there, that at least she feels. She takes a deep breath and slips out past him without a word, leaving him there. She wants to look back, to see how he takes it. Just because she wants to know.  _I_ _t doesn't matter_ . But she knows she shouldn't, so she doesn't. Her willpower holds out enough to not make that mistake. 

* * *

He's cold and business-like after that. Taking rejection hard, she assumes, and wishes she could comfort him, but she's likely the last person who he wants to. She doesn't know what he was expecting. She's still surprised he might want that with her - is he desperate and reaching for the first person who showed signs of caring? 

Cisco was right, he could go out. She's sure even as himself he'd find someone interested, but maybe the point is to avoid recounting his life story, his pain. If he doesn't want casual and he can't manage opening himself up adequately, then it does make a strange sense he'd try it on with her, someone who knows everything already. The idea that she's probably purely the convenient option sparks disappointment in her that confuses her. 

Knowing that isn't helping her out much though. Not with her own frustration. He had hit on a correct observation with his question to her – it had been a very long time since she was with anyone. That hadn't bothered her particularly, not when there hadn't been any options so to speak. After their discussion, or whatever it could legitimately be called, her body seemed awakened to the idea of having something happen. Her senses attuned to being around him, on alert to his proximity, a temptation. Just as well he'd been avoiding her, to stop her doing or saying anything embarrassing by accident.

Except, that doesn't last. He's more in the background around her as the weeks pass but he's still  _there_ . Less antagonistic. Not making trouble. Rather typically for when Savitar is concerned, that just makes things trickier to interpret. What might be seen as a positive change in most people, she can't tell if that could be signs of depression in him. Worrying about his mental state and how she might have played a part in triggering something bad doesn't help her get her mind off him in general. 

And the frustration that goes hand in hand with having him on her mind gets to be agonizingly distracting around when she ovulates. She finds herself ogling him, her hormone-addled brain swimming in half-formed fantasies of what he could do for her, with his voice husky and body closer even than it had tantalizingly been that one time. 

The stretch of his neck exposed as he leans over the consoles calling to her. The enticing display of his long fingers, his hands moving with precision in everything he does with them. Her eyes following the line of his toned body, attention drawn to it when he props himself against the wall or the side of a desk in his efforts to put space between himself and anyone else while maintaining a nonchalant regard. 

He catches her looking a few times, gaze sliding to her, his lips parting, possibly in surprise. 

Savitar does nothing, says nothing, but she knows he notices on those occasions that she's aware of and potentially more she isn't. She's been too obvious and she hates that he must know his effect, however temporary she hopes it will be. She isn't sure they are friends like she's tried to be, but they aren't  _that_ either. It's a silly bout of lust, an inconvenient physical infatuation based on nothing more than good looks, the echoes of their long past history, and an opportunity offered. She'll get over it in time. She just needs to be strong, resist looking at him, resist thinking about him.

* * *

Months later, a text message appears mid-evening. From Savitar. It's one of a handful of texts he's ever sent her.

Simply 'come over' and an address she vaguely recognizes as his, not that she's ever been to his place. He was intensely private about where he'd chosen to make home, rebuffing offers to decorate and shooting down plans for a house-warming. She doesn't think any of them have been there, except Barry who likely got summarily ejected several times for interfering before he learned Savitar's ways better.

The text says nothing about why she should come over. She could not go, it isn't likely to be an emergency; the panic button status page on Cisco’s app they all have installed shows nothing untoward going on and neither does the local news feed. Ignoring it would work perfectly fine she's sure, but she finds herself wondering about it and admittedly lonely. Everyone else on the team has been busy with their significant others and all Caitlin has had is her roster of projects to get through – satisfying but not good to overdo it on either. 

It reads like an open-ended invitation for the evening, no specific time. Of course, it could mean right away, but Savitar is direct, he'd say if so. It's not like him. She gets a little worried, then more than a little curious.

She knows, despite her internal protests, she hasn't managed to get over whatever thing she's developed for him. Others had been noticing too, not sure what to make of her odd behavior around the labs. They'd switched from him avoiding her to her avoiding him and sometimes she'd mistake Barry for him from the corner of her eye. Barry who was plenty familiar as a friend, who did reach out to touch her at times and if caught by surprise by those friendly touches, her heart rate would sky-rocket. It clearly bemused and likely also worried Barry who'd become a little more cautious with his friendliness, simply unaware of what was going on with her spooked by him. 

And then there were the Freudian slips so bad at times she wanted to smack her face with her palm, if that wouldn't just make more of a big deal about it. She could give Felicity a run for her money. 

Much as she'd wanted to blame it on hormones, it hadn't just been around ovulation either. That had made it infinitely worse every month, but it hadn't been the end, nor the start of it, if she was being truthful. She can't get the idea out of her head and she knows there's a depth to it she'd denied. Something that lingered for her, stirred up by his wantonness. Unlike what she had yearned for once with Barry, but no less appealing on its own for seeming attainable. 

Savitar hasn't been pushing the matter, despite his forwardness in the conversation that it originated from, and that more than anything makes her want to take charge and find out where they stand. She wants to know if he'd meant it. If it is actually attainable like it has felt, a connection between them that could be more if she lets it.

* * *

Savitar opens the door before her knock registers properly to her ears. He leaves it wide open, standing back, hand still gripping the handle like a feeble support of some kind. He's dressed differently than usual; a fitted dark blue shirt and flattering black trousers, tight enough to tell what hope there is here. 

Behind him, there's wine and two glasses laid out on a coffee table. Which she knows isn't for him. Candles are lit around the room in various spots, a sweet scent wafting to her from the movement of the door. The scene surprises her in how date-like it looks - it's not exactly a dinner date but it's definitely an effort of some sort. It surprises her in how ordinary it is for a man like him.

But what is he actually like now that he's given up the pretense of Godhood? He doesn't let anyone close enough to really know him. Threatening his bite as he's prone to but only bark remains in truth, to keep them at a safe distance. Tonight he is quiet, patient. Like she realizes he has been ever since that conversation they had. Waiting to see what develops, what's worth the risk in pursuing – every glance of hers building up to this.

She stalks through into the apartment before she can change her mind. As she moves to take off her coat he's abruptly there taking it from her as it falls off her shoulders. He doesn't ask if she wants him to take it, doesn't partake in the polite small talk others would, he just does it like it's nothing, expected, and she tries not to think too hard on the implications of him being so ready and willing to help her take off her clothes, however innocuous this instance is. A flush goes through her at that and she rushes to sit down, filling her hands with the already poured glass of red wine.

She gulps some wine down nervously and then slows to sipping it, not looking to him, though she can feel him watching her. She can't bring herself to look at him while he does that, knowing what look is likely to be there. Imagining that intensity combined with the same parting of lips he'd had when he'd caught her watching him before, giving it a whole new context she hadn't wanted to believe before. 

He'd said previously he wasn't interested in anything casual and ironically she doesn't know if that was a casually said comment to dismiss her probing or, if true, if it's still applicable. They aren't friends in the same way her and Barry were or are. At best, they've had to reforge a friendship, hammer it out into something new and tenuous. They've reached a crux here, on deciding if they wanted to retread that same route they'd once taken or to take another path this time. 

Breaking the silence, she asks, “Why did you have me come over?”

It's a somewhat disingenuous query, making it sound like it's all put upon him. Her attending at his request. 

“You know why -” Savitar retorts, tone sure and yet sounding in his curtness as if he’s wary of admitting this shared desire outright himself.

He sits next to her on the couch. Right next to her, his thigh pressed against hers, his heat warming through the layers pressed between them. 

“\- and you chose to come.” He finishes speaking closer to a whisper; a hush to his affirmation that feels incredibly intimate combined with how his eyes lock onto hers.

His hand grazes her bare knee, an electric touch and a taste of what might be in store, and she almost spills what remains of her wine. The day, and the furnishing, is saved by his fast reflexes. He puts the glass down slowly and she notes his hand was withdrawn the same instant he went for the glass with his other one. Is he taking that as a sign to stop? She doesn't want that. There are many things she thinks about how unwise it was to come here and indulge her desires, but she knows what she wants. She wants that touch and the promise of so much more like it.

She turns to him, looking at him properly for the first time since she entered his home. There's hesitation in his movements, an uncertainty because he doesn't know precisely how she feels about him yet. All he has are what she says, that fact she came here and the months of looks they may each have second-guessed the meaning of. She sees then how he  _has_ opened up, in a different way than expected, how much more vulnerable he's making himself for her here.

Placing a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer is all the encouragement he needs though. His hungry kisses are hers as soon as he  _knows_ without a doubt that she wants him too. As much passion as he had turned from hate to love is intoxicating. He takes his time, kissing her deeper, slower, tongue teasing at hers and stroking her lips. Making her impatient for more attention, pressing up against him as much as their position allows. It isn't long before she takes matters into her own hands and changes the position, pushing him back to the end of the couch, to straddle him sitting upright.

His hands slide down her back to cup her ass but she's the one to close the distance, grinding into him, inspiring a throaty moan. So many years since she'd been with anyone and it sends a thrill through her to feel his erection, that she can have that effect, verified in the rub of it against her clit when she gets the angle right, perfect for both of them. She doesn't get to keep it up for long, as panting, he stops her. An unspoken plea to not go too far too fast.

There's so much she wants, the ache for more throbbing in her but she busies herself unbuttoning his shirt as he gets himself, and his breathing, back under control. Her shirt follows to the growing pile on the floor and she bites her lip, reaching for his trouser top button. Savitar's breath is still ragged, but he nods a submission for her to undo his trousers. Undoing the zipper and wrestling him out of them does give her reason to halt though, presented immediately with his nakedness. She hadn't expected him to wear nothing under his trousers and a chiding joke falls from her lips in response.

“I hope you don't do that all the time. Like under your suit.”

He pushes himself up further, his elbows braced against the side of the couch, body reaching towards her. She leans forward cooperatively, rewarded with a conspiratorial whisper into her ear, “Just for you.”

He's grinning at her and her slightly scandalized expression as he leans back down, relaxing into the cushions. She tugs on his trousers forcibly in retaliation and they catch under his butt some without the warning to shift up more. They are however still down enough to free his cock fully. He grasps at her arms, a neediness in how he pulls her back to him and she slides on top of him, eager for better access to him. Her hands trace over the sides his chest she can still touch, not willing to break contact with his chest to her chest. Fingers mapping out the scars and pale freckled flesh alike. Figuring out the points that make him buck up into her. There's still too much material between them in places, she knew she'd gotten distracted.

He was already leaking pre-cum when she'd freed him from his trousers and he's ruining her skirt with each tilt of his pelvis to hers to provide such delicious friction but it's hard to care. Concerns about her wardrobe are secondary to what she really wants. However unwise a choice it is to want him, it feels right. She wants to feel good, like he clearly does, something in common she'll work with. 

She unzips her skirt but instead of shimmying it down like she intends, he's quickly pushing it up around her waist. She isn't complaining about it either as he shifts to insert himself between her thighs, the simulated fucking up against her core, one single layer of fabric left in the way of even more sensation than this. But she has to push him away eventually.

Standing up to get her panties off, she notices uncertainty flickering briefly on his face before understanding dawns. His fear of rejection surfacing again. She stands there completely naked in front of him and he drinks her in with a silent awe. There are some nerves fluttering in her stomach now, for the line she's crossing. One she's held herself back from but she's done waiting, wishing. Tonight she does, she straddles Savitar once more. Intent to show her enthusiasm renewed to make up for the moment of pain she'd unintentionally inspired. Savitar responds in kind and things get very heated very quickly, doing everything except that last step into the unknown together. 

And then there is the absence of him, a lightness for an instant, a flash of her own doubt and hurt. But he's back before the feeling fully blooms and her careful faith in him returns too. A gravelly, out of breath explanation of, “Condom.”

A glance down confirms he's already taken care of business putting it on, an eager boy there. There's nothing stopping them now. She nods to him and kisses him with fervor, feeling him entering her as she lowers a leg off the couch in order to widen herself for it, wanting to take him in all at once. 

He pushes in slowly, which she thinks is a tease and rolls her hips to meet him, but a little too late she realizes exactly why he was taking it slow. Only a few stuttered thrusts later and he lets out a gasped “Cait” as part of a strangled moan and he's coming. Coming and vibrating at the same time and it's almost enough to push her over too, but then it's over too soon, leaving her right on the edge. 

He's panting under her, cheeks flushed from their activities, and either isn't trying to hide his worry or is doing an awful job of of it. There's no apology. He aims for a wry joke that doesn't come out right either.

“Bet it hasn't been virtually decades or more for you.”

She doesn't have words to reassure right then, still so wound up, she settles for kissing him. Pouring the tightly coiled energy into proving the want she feels, showing she isn't backing down, isn't regretting anything. He takes it all, her frenzied energy to his lazier energy from his hazy come down, tempering her until they meet in the middle.

He breaks the kiss after a few minutes, a lustful gaze held on her face. “I promise I will make it worth your while still.”

That was as much warning as a promise, since he blips away again. Going away to wash up if the noises from the bathroom are good indications. An ambitious pile of condoms appears on the coffee table and she raises an eyebrow. He says nothing, a small tug of a smile on his lips as he guides her to lie flat on the couch this time, nudging her legs open so he can settle there.

There's no lead up with him this time, he's suddenly right there going at it with his mouth to her cunt. Leading her to her first orgasm with nothing more than his tongue but not stopping there. The pace changes, gentler, to teasing and when he adds in the vibration she's biting her lip again, her pleasure building again with every slight change in frequency adding to it. 

From the way he slips up with control of his vibration after a while and switches to screwing her with his tongue between bouts of sucking on and circling around her clit, she's pretty sure he's hard again and horny as hell, and she doesn't want to miss out on the encore of that. Preferably before things go too far again. 

Tugging on his hair just spurs him on more and she bites back a moan as he adds a little buzz back into his ministrations. Squeezing his arm works better, he peers up at her curiously.

“I want...” 

They stare at each other as she searches for the right words. His face wet with her juices that he licks off leisurely, swiping his tongue slowly around his mouth. 

“I want _more_ \- I want you inside me.”

“ _Do_ you?” he asks, a smirk creeping onto his face as he watches her squirm under his still form. He’s not moving to do anything about it though. She rolls her eyes at him impatiently and tries to grapple him up towards her, but she doesn’t get him much closer. He holds onto her hips with that smirk taunting her, too pleased with her admission. She isn’t thinking too straight, she just wants to wipe it off his face...

“I want _you_.”

His eyes darken at her words and she prefers to look away, to sit up, no resistance found from him, and scramble for a condom packet as a reasonable cover for the avoidance. Not because she doesn't want to know how it makes him feel, but because she can guess and she doesn't want to think how this want makes  _her_ feel. How it makes her feel something somewhere deeper than her desire, her need to live in these moments she's given herself over to him. 

She motions to him with the readied condom, shifting up closer to roll it onto him, a grunt of satisfaction from him at her hand stroking it down his length. His hand grazes her cheek and a slow kiss follows, so detached from the urgency she would have assumed he'd show, not wasting any time to have his way with her. The tenderness chokes her up a little, luckily easily hidden in her breathless state as she amps up the kiss into something more suitable for what she had in mind. 

Eventually, she pulls him on top of her as she lies back, so ready to have him like that again. He doesn't enter teasingly this time, sliding full home easily with how incredibly wet she's gotten. Hooking her legs around his waist, her hands firm on his back, she uses every part of herself to pull him closer as he pumps in and out with increasing abandon. He tries to lean further forward to kiss her a few times, to suck on her neck, but they're panting heavily. It's getting hard to be coordinated in anything other than the rhythm they're so preoccupied with keeping up, hitting what they both need. 

He shifts her subtly on the couch, finding another angle that feels even better and she can barely think, lost in the feel of him everywhere they touch, inside and out. There's nothing but sensation, her eyes closed in ecstasy as she gets to her second orgasm finally, grateful he has the stamina to make it there with her.

In the aftermath, out of breath and sweaty, he rolls off the couch to lay flat on the floorboards below it, giving her some space to cool off away from his above-average body heat. She glances down at him there and sees a rare non-smug smile on his face, a joy accompanying it that reaches his eyes for once. The endorphins will be swirling around their bloodstreams about now with plenty of reasons to produce such a blissful expression. 

When her breathing is finally returned to normal, she peels herself off the couch and starts collecting her clothes. Half-way through dressing, she feels him studying her motions from where he's now sat up against the coffee table. There's the hint of crinkles around his eyes.

“Well, aren't you going to make yourself presentable too?”

His eyes narrow further and she spots the defensiveness creeping into his pose with every passing second. She balls up his trousers and throws them at him.

“I feel like I should be buying you dinner,” she says as way of explanation, “Speedster metabolism needs plenty of fuel after all.”

Some of the tenseness leaves his features and he gets up slowly, in no hurry to comply – giving her a show of getting dressed to rival some stripteases. 

“Done?” she asks as he does up the 2nd to last button on his shirt, leaving his collar loose enough she, and anyone else, will be able to see the hickey there she hadn't intended to create, getting carried away earlier.

“Ready when you are,” he says with a quirk of his lips and a sly wink.

She doesn't blush at the innuendo, they're generally beyond that she thinks, but there is a warmth that spreads over her. Something to look forward to later perhaps. She doesn't know if this is wise, if it will last, but she'll enjoy it for what it is. At least one evening of not feeling alone. Feeling good in his presence, even if she wouldn't have predicted that once upon a time. He makes her feel alive and maybe it does the same for him. Maybe they both need the reminder. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic chapters are rebloggable on tumblr [under the tag here](https://purpleyin.tumblr.com/tagged/flash-fic%3A-trust-and-other-negotiations).


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